


Sample Sale

by scarlettblythe



Category: The Mindy Project
Genre: SOTU ficathon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3209036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettblythe/pseuds/scarlettblythe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My drabble collection, including prompts and bits and pieces previously posted on Tumblr.</p><p>Chapters will differ in rating, but nothing above a T!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Misfit Toys Club

**Prompt: Beverly and Jeremy go out once a month and talk trash about everyone else in the practice.**

 

“Well, everyone, I would love to stay and work late, but I have to go enjoy a romantic Friday night with my boyfriend, who promised that this weekend we would get through an entire restaurant meal without complaining about the markups on wine. And you know what that means!” Mindy wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“That I need to get out of the moonshine business and into the vino,” Beverley offered, looking up from where she was inexplicably shelling peas.

“No, Beverley, and please don’t,” Mindy warned. “I already had to lie to that inspector that all your stills were for medical-grade disinfectant, I cannot pass off one of those grape-squishing buckets.”

“We could use it as a birthing tub when it’s not grape season?” Morgan offered, turning to Jeremy for approval.

Jeremy’s objection to this plan came out as a strangled scream, and Morgan slung an arm around his waist in case he fainted. He patted Jeremy’s face comfortingly.

“Morgan!” Jeremy was almost hysterical. “Why do your hands smell like wildlife?”

“Ah. Okay, so don’t get mad, but -”

“I will certainly ‘get mad’, Morgan, if you have brought any more dogs into this practice.”

“Well then we’re fine! Not a single dog in this building. Or at least none that I brought in. Charlie from the third floor has a seeing-eye dog, but he’s not for sale. I checked.”

 

“Good.” Jeremy stood up straight, tugging on the lapels of his suit jacket to straighten it. “Enjoy your weekend, Mindy!” he called after her, and she threw a careless wave over her shoulder as she sped towards the exit. Jeremy sighed. He still had at least an hour of paperwork to get done before he could leave for _his_ Friday night.

 

***********

An hour later, Beverley knocked on his office door, walking in before he could answer.

“Well, British, you ready to go?”

“Shhhhhh!” Jeremy hissed, furtively checking outside for eavesdroppers before closing the door. “What if Morgan heard? I told you: if we’re to do this, the rest of the office cannot know.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s not like we’re rolling in the hay together or nothin’.” Beverley gave him an exaggerated wink. Jeremy shuddered, brushing off his jacket sleeves as though something was crawling up them.

“Indeed we are not. I have not yet sunk that low. Regardless, this habit of ours is not among my finest moments.”

“Aw, give over. Come on, British. It’s time.”

 

************

The bar was dingy, the sort of place Jeremy had assumed were only found in American movies about innocent men on the run from the law. Dimly lit, punctuated by ageing neon signs advertising beer no-one had ever heard of. Brown leather barstools lined the bar, and a green lamp swung over a pool table, creating a shifting cone of light in the gloom that only served to highlight the motes of dust skittering through the air.

 

Beverley greeted the bartender with a toothy grin and a careless salute. He lazily grabbed a bottle of something amber, dumping it on the bar with a satisfying thump. He placed a shot glass on either side and, as an afterthought, a brown bowl filled with stale pretzels. Beverley was already perched on a bar stool, filling both glasses and shoving one into Jeremy’s hand before he had even taken his own seat.

 

“To our co-workers,” she said with a devilish smile.

“To our co-workers,” he echoed wearily, and threw the shot down. He grimaced, and Beverley hooted with laughter, refilling his glass.

“You tired, British?”

“Of my staff? Is it that obvious?”

“You know they have a pool going.”

“For what?”

“Oh, take your pick. When you’ll decide to destress by joining a knitting circle. When you’ll find Jesus. When you’ll crack and leave the country under an assumed identity - that one was mine. And since I’ll organise your documents, there’s no way for me to lose.”

“I might take you up on that. I hear Guatemala is lovely.”

“Really? I’d think by now you’d be sick of bats.”

“Why on earth would I be sick of bats?”

“Oh… you haven’t been in the hot pipe room for a few weeks, have you?”

“I try to stay out of any room that Morgan dries his underwear in - Morgan! He’s keeping bats at the office now?”

“Aw, they’re just babies. Got separated from their mama, poor things.”

“Guatemalan bats got separated from their mother in Manhattan?”

“Yeah. Well they fell off the back of a truck, if you know what I mean,” Beverley smirked, “So I said to Morgan, you raise them up and they’ll make a real nice stew. Or you can sell them. They make a nice little profit, rare bats.” Beverley shrugged. “He didn’t speak to me for a week. The bats sure like me, though.”

“Beverley, first thing on Monday you are getting rid of those bats. I don’t care if you bake them into a pie, I want them gone.”

“Bat pie,” Beverley mused. “Now there’s an idea.”

 

Jeremy groaned, folding his arms on the bar and collapsing onto them.

“Why can’t I keep control of these people?”

“If you ask me, you just need to let yourself be as nuts as we all are.” Beverley picked up a handful of pretzels, squinting at them suspiciously. She shrugged and tossed them into her mouth, chewing with relish.

“I am not nuts. I may have gone through a period of emotional instability, yes. And it is true that I did use food as a coping mechanism. But I’m better now - I’m thin and handsome again. I have a beautiful girlfriend who is somewhat tolerant of the opera, and who has a son who is somewhat tolerant of me. I’m managing partner of my own medical practice, with staff who come to work at least half the time, and most of whom do not bring dangerous animals into the building. I even have nights like tonight, with alcohol, which I have been informed is the American man’s version of therapy.”

“Yep. Nuts. You’ve just got to embrace it.” Beverley poured two more shots, sighing. “Listen, I’m going to give you some advice. And not like that time I taught Tamra how to pick locks - this is good, clean advice.”

 

Jeremy sat up straight, gazing at her with consideration. He picked up the shot glass, holding it at eye level as though it was some kind of battle of wills. One or the other of them won, and he threw it back. Wincing, he wiped his mouth.  
“Alright. Let’s hear it.”

Beverley leaned in close to him, confidentially.

“Castro wears a size 11 shoe.”

“What?”

She sat back, nodding with all the confidence of a sage. “I’m telling you. You want to fix all this, that’s all you need.”

She threw back one last shot, and hopped off the stool with surprising dexterity. Grabbing her purse, she looked at Jeremy with something he could have sworn was fondness.

“See you next month, British.”

 

***********

On Monday, Jeremy walked into his office, only to find a portly security guard sitting in his chair.

“Excuse me?”

“Dr. Reed! I’m Castro - Head of Security for the building. I just wanted to come up and see if there’s anything I could do to repay the favour.”

“Favour?”

Castro grinned, and stood up, bouncing out from behind the desk. “For these.” Jeremy looked down to see a pair of neon high-top Nikes, the most garish shoes he’d ever seen in his life. Mindy would love them, and from the way Castro was bouncing, they were almost certainly something special.

“Size 11,” he breathed, suddenly understanding.

“You got it. You don’t know what it means - most people never remember my name, let alone my shoes. These must have set you back a pretty penny,” he whistled.

“I have a friend,” Jeremy said softly.

“Well I’m your friend now, that’s for sure. So anything you need done - locks changed, new cameras installed, anything I can do to make your life easier? Just let me know.”

 

A world of possibilities opened up before Jeremy’s eyes. Possibilities that would definitely drive his coworkers mad. Possibilities that he knew would only prove that he, too, was nuts.

“Oh, you are a friend indeed, dear Castro. Have a seat. We have some talking to do.”


	2. Broad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mindy wants to make a good impression for their first dance so she signs her and Danny up for ballroom dance lessons

Mindy waltzed into Danny’s office, a wide grin on her face.

 

"Clear your calendar, Danny, because I have just made your year." She grabbed his datebook off his desk and tossed the leather-bound tome into the trash. Danny leapt up, sputtering protestations, and dove into the wastepaper basket for it. Mindy rolled her eyes and perched on the corner of his desk as he dusted it off, placing it squarely in one corner of his workspace. She shoved a bright pink leaflet in front of his face.

"What is this?"

"Dance lessons!" Mindy cheered. "For our first dance. How amazing will it be to go out there as husband and wife and actually dance, Danny? Both of us, I mean.” She swayed in time to imaginary music, drifting off into an imaginary world of of foxtrots. Danny looked at the leaflet, a scowl taking over his face.

"I don’t need dance lessons, Mindy."

 

Mindy groaned audibly. “Danny, come on. Please don’t do your whole elitist ballerino thing right now.”

"No, what? You think some two-bit off-Broadway - _broad_ can teach me something Lopokova couldn’t?” He tore up the leaflet in disgust, tossing the fragments over his shoulder.

Mindy looked at him blankly. “Is that a gun, a dessert or a dictator?”

Danny huffed. “Are you serious?”

"What, Danny? I can’t be seen remembering all this Soviet crap. Communism is fine for your people, but it’s bad for my image.”

"My people? What does that even mean?"

"The Italians were Communist, right? They had that Franco guy. And he’s like _old_. Way old. Older than you, maybe.”

"Franco was Spanish, Fascist, and he died in 1975."

 

"See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Everyone knows that right now the only cool politics is Russel Brand’s, and that seems to be mostly about not voting and pretending you don’t do drugs. And I actually don’t do drugs, so I have to pretend to do them so I can pretend to pretend _not_ to do them. Do you even realise how hard that is?”

"Is that why you keep leaving little baggies of powdered sugar all over the house? Why do you have to pretend not to do something you already don’t do? Why not just keep… not doing it?"

"Why can’t you just take dance lessons with me so I don’t trip and tear my extremely expensive wedding dress?"

"It’s not about you, okay! It’s just… it’s pride.”

"Exactly! Exactly, Danny!" Mindy jumped off the desk to stand in front of him, one arm raised in triumph.

 

Danny sighed.

"If I agree to this, will you stop with the baggies?"

"Oh, those aren’t drugs. It’s just the most efficient way to raise my blood sugar when I’m cranky. Plus, Josh was right. The ritual is soothing."

"Hey! Don’t talk about your ex at the same time as trying to make me do these stupid dance lessons, okay?"

"Aww, I’m sorry babe. But you know I don’t care about Josh. He was like a bajillion years ago, and he’s too tall and blonde for me anyway," she winked at him. "These days I like my men short, old and grumpy."

Danny shrugged at the truth in this statement, a cocky half-grin taking over his face. He tented his hands, pressing the pads of his fingers together thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

 

Mindy squealed in delight, launching herself into his lap. She went to pepper kisses on his face, but he put a hand over her mouth.

"On one condition!"

"Anything." Her voice was muffled behind his hand, but he didn’t want to move it until he knew he was going to get his way.

"I get to pick the teacher."

"Done." Mindy knocked his hand away. "Not that dictator dude, though. I don’t need to be associated with another war criminal. _One_ creepy Argentinean dude leaves you all his money and Interpol is _all over you_. Like I can help it when men randomly fall in love with me. And don’t even get me started on Beverley.”

Danny slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her sideways into his chest. She tucked her head under his chin, letting out a little noise of contentment. Danny found himself pressing a kiss to the top of her head, a lazy grin on his face.

"Naw, I don’t think she’s a war criminal. Bank robber, possibly."

"Ha, more like definitely. Why do you think I keep her around? We need her in case we ever have to go on the run.”

"If we ever have to go on the run, Beverley will probably be the reason."

"It’ll be fun, Danny! We’ll get you one of those cute newsboy caps, you can grow out your hair so it gets those adorable curls." She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging it straight as if to measure its possibilities. "It’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde - only I’m younger than Beyonce, of course."

 

"I don’t even - fine." He dislodged her fingers from his hair, rifling through it to put it back in place. "No dictators. Good, strong, American dance teacher."

Mindy’s eyes lit up. “Or an Australian!”

"You’re right, they tend to have good ballroom technique - "

"Yeah, plus, hot. Do you think Chris Hemsworth is free?”

"Yeah, yeah. Just don’t forget who you’re marrying."

"Not a chance," Mindy leaned forward to trip kisses down his nose. "Not even for an Australian."

 


	3. Defenestrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Set during "The One That Got Away". Danny tells Mindy that he's decided to be the sperm donor for that couple and Mindy finds herself feeling unexpected jealousy. She imagines what her kids with Danny would like. -tainted_silver

It probably wouldn’t have surprised anyone to learn that when Danny was stressed or uncertain, the hospital was his happy place. He drew strength just walking into the building, feeling the certainty that came from knowing he was doing good.

 

He was making his way to the doctor’s lounge when he saw her, curled up in a waiting-room chair, green blouse buttoned with a carelessness that told him she hadn’t planned on stopping by.

“Hey, what’s up?” He found himself walking towards her, curious.

“Hey!” A bright smile lit up her face, washing away her look of pensive concern.

“What are you doing here?” A tiny voice inside him wished that she was here to be his sounding board, that she had somehow known he’d gotten himself into another stupid mess that he needed her help - and her complete lack of manners - to get out of.

 

Mindy winced at the question. She and Danny might be friends these days, but she could just feel the judgement coming.

“Sam was helping out around my apartment and he was...defenestrated.”

“You threw a soldier out a window?” Danny was incredulous. “Wow. One day with you and you messed him up worse than Al Qaeda.”

“Ha ha ha, Danny. I would not joke about Al Qaeda,” she warned. “And it could have happened to anybody. He’s fine, he’s just a little, like, banged up. But I do think it might mean that he has to delay his deployment.” She grinned saucily, resisting the urge to overplay it with a wink.

“You sound thrilled.”

“I am. I would love to be able to nurse him back to health for a couple of weeks.”

 

Danny didn’t need to hear this crap. Why was she always giving people all this unnecessary detail about her life? It was selfish, that’s what it was, sitting here like a lovesick teenager when he was in crisis. It was too much. _I swear to god, if I have to hear one more thing about this Army guy I’m going to gag her._ He tuned back in just in time to hear her waxing lyrical about some bed-and-breakfast, and that was it. He was done waiting for her to finish talking.

“I’m glad you’re here, because I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Is it fashion related? Because Danny, I made the sickest look book for you. Would you wear a pocket square?”

“No. I wanted to talk to you about a couple who asked me to be… a sperm donor.”

 

Mindy opened her mouth, only to find every word she wanted to shout at him withering and crumbling away from her, leaving her speechless. Her stomach surged as she imagined a baby with deep, dark eyes in the arms of some faceless couple. _No._ It wasn’t right. He said no, right? He had to have said no.

 

“And I said I’d do it.”

“Wait, what?” The baby disappeared, the image popping like a bubble, and Mindy felt an ache deep in the pit of her gut, the kind she normally got when her cousins posted videos of their kids to Facebook. She felt herself sitting up, pulling herself to sit sideways in her chair. _What the fuck has he done?_

“Yeah, I mean… I’m probably never gonna have kids, so why not do it now, right?”

Danny? Never have kids? The baby slipped back into her mind - his baby. She could see his widow’s peak in a thatch of almost-black hair, his lips, plush and pink against brown skin, and - _woah._ _Where did that come from?_ Danny wasn’t brown. He wasn’t like, ginger or anything, but he wasn’t _brown._ The ache was back in the pit of her stomach and Mindy didn’t have time to look at this too closely - but she knew with certainty that Danny had to have children. He was going to have children. This couldn’t be up for discussion.

 

“I’m sorry. If that is the reason you’re doing this, you definitely cannot do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“One weird woman breaks your heart and suddenly you’re like _‘nooooo, I don’t know if I can ever be a daaaaaaad. I can never be a father figure to no-one with this broken heart of mine.'_  Like, that’s a bunch of crap. You already call a wallet a billfold. You’re going to be a dad. Okay? Just deal with it.”

 

Danny was distracted from his irritation at her impression of him by the sudden butterflies in his stomach. How could she be so certain? How did she know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would get this? Unbidden, he remembered the morning he spent as her gynaecologist.

_“Do you manage to get one in, under the buzzer?”_

And there she was, in front of him. Plump brown skin, hair thick and dark, but with a wave to it, almost a spitting image of her mother. Puppy eyes that weren’t quite Mindy’s were lit up with mischief, and plump lips he felt like he should know curved into the sweetest, most familiar smile.

 

_She’s right. I have to get out of this._ Because that baby, the chubby brown mischief-maker, left him feeling something unsettling, uncomfortable but certain. _Hope_ , he realised with a start. _This is hope._

“I already said I’d do it.” His mind was swirling and all he knew was he couldn’t deal with this alone.

“Oh. Well, if you already said you would do this life-altering decision of being the biological father of this random kid you don’t know, then yeah, I guess you have to do it.”

“Really?”

“No! Of course not. You’re such a dummy. You know what? I think I have a little time. Let’s go try to get out of this.” She grabbed her bag and marched off, and Danny realised, all of a sudden, that maybe he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought.


	4. Siegfried and Natalie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: This should be up your alley: Danny takes Mindy to the ballet for the first time.
> 
> (You should all know that this was written before we had seen Danny's bathtub. In my mind, TBTB heard my prayers and crafted that episode just for me!)

“I just don’t understand what’s so good about the ballet, Danny. It’s hours and hours of boring music, and no-one even spins on their head. I mean, even in Step Up they had to mix ballet with hip hop to make people watch the movie, and Step Up had Channing Tatum.”

“What is a Channing Tatum?” Danny grinned at the usher, who checked their tickets and waved them through to the theatre.

Mindy scoffed. “Oh please, I’ve made you watch that movie at least three times, and every time you went on a rant about ‘correct technique’. There is no way you don’t know who Channing Tatum is by now. And don’t even get me started on Magic Mike.”

“The stripper movie? I’ve told you I’m not watching that. Watch it with your girl friends.”

“We’ve all already seen it, but that was before I knew about Diamond Dan. Now I need your perspective on the movie’s accuracy.” She winked at him and Danny winced, glancing around to make sure they hadn’t been overheard.

“Stop it, okay? This is the _theatre_. The people here are fussy about that kind of thing.” He nodded an apology to two old ladies sitting at the end of the row as Mindy shoved through to get to their seats. She settled in at the centre of the row, glancing around the theatre.

“These people might not understand how to liven up a performance, but they sure do get decoration. Look at that chandelier, Danny!” Her eyes widened and she hit him in the shoulder repeatedly, suddenly panicky. “Oh my god, do you think it’ll fall down like in Phantom of the Opera? I can’t be kidnapped by a deformed maniac, even if Gerard Butler was crazy hot in that movie. Danny, I cannot sing, when he realises that I am _dead_.”

“Relax, it’s not going to fall.”

“Okay. I trust you.”

She smiled at him and he was caught by it as always, so mesmerised by the light in her eyes that he found himself nodding along as she chattered, distracted by her lips, berry-purple and kissable, until he heard the words “our apartment”.

“Wait, what?”

“I’m just saying, the gold leaf everywhere in here? I think it would be gorgeous against the exposed brick in that place. Like glam meets grunge, Danny. I could be responsible for a whole new aesthetic!”

“No.”

“Please? I’ll wear one of those plate-skirts ballerinas wear for you.”

He considered it a second, but those things were hard to get off. “No.”

“Alright, fine. But I am going to redo your bathroom. That place needs a decent tub.” She leaned into her chair, leafing through the programme.

“Swan Lake. That’s the one with Natalie Portman, right?”

“It’s one of three traditional Tchaikovsky -” Danny was cut off by Mindy’s exaggerated snores. “Mindy, come on, this is culture!”

“Um, culture is Fashion Week. This is what old people do because culture nowadays might give them a heart attack.”

 

Danny sighed. Alright. If he was going to get Mindy into this and save her brain from being completely rotted by sugar and gossip magazines, it was time to pull out the big guns.

 

“So you know I was Prince Siegfried, right?”

“What, really? You were this guy?” She pointed to the dark haired, muscular man on the program.

“Yeah, back in my ballerino days.”

Mindy was silent for a minute, considering the image in front of her.

“Did you wear those tights?”

“I did.”

Mindy looked down at his crotch, then turned to face the stage. “Woah.”

Danny grinned, knowing that now, from the moment the prince entered, this show would have her rapt attention.


	5. Tamra's Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For alittlenutjob, my first attempt at either a drabble or anything to do with Tamra.
> 
> (This was posted on Tumblr ages ago, but I'm migrating as much stuff as possible today! I like having it all collected in one place.)

Tamra watched Mindy bolt into her office at the mention of Danny’s mom. Suddenly, Mindy’s earlier reaction hit her, and she was  _pissed_. She stormed through the door and closed it firmly behind her.

“Did I hear you right, Dr. L.? Did you say you aren’t coming to my wedding?”

“Your fictional wedding to Morgan? No, I will not be attending that.” Mindy was distracted, considering the contents of her desk. She shrugged and swept all the detritus into her giant green purse.

“That is not the point. Who always has your back in this office? Who beat Dr. C.’s ass when he left you on top of that building all night?” Mindy was still not paying attention, rifling through her desk drawers in search of something. It was time to play the age card. “Who stole that lady’s donut for you after she said you looked older than that British lady?”

“Princess Kate? Who said I looked older than her?” Mindy looked up, dropping the bag of potato chips she’d found behind her computer.

“No, not her, the other one. The one who’s married to that guy with the big ears.”

“ _Camilla_? Oh, I will  _destroy_  whoever said that. Where is she?”

“Chill, Dr. L. I left the donut on your snacks shelf.”

“Thank you.” Mindy moved to the shelf, rifling through the brightly coloured wrappers until she came to the donut bag. She pulled out the donut and took a bite, chewing contentedly, then looked at Tamra with contrition. “I am sorry for not coming to your imaginary wedding.”

 

Tamra felt herself softening on the poor old bag. She really was way too cute to stay mad at. Really she was just like Morgan’s grandma - selfish, forgetful as hell and frankly a bit racist, but damn she had pinchable cheeks. Still, Tamra knew if she angled this right, she could play this whole thing in her favour.

“Oh hell no, you have to do better than that. You owe me.”

Mindy groaned at the concept. “Fine. I will be your maid of honour.”

“Are you kidding? I have Nicki Minaj on speed dial and you think I want you to be my maid of honour?” It was actually just Ms Minaj’s assistant, but Tamra firmly believed all bragging should be aspirational.

“Oh my god, Tamra. If she and Drake ever have a baby, you have to hook me up.”

Tamra grinned. Mindy was way too gullible when it came to her celebrity friends.

“Are we forgetting who owes who, here? I swear, all you doctors act like you run this place.”

“We do, Tamra. We literally own it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tamra rolled her eyes.

“No, Tamra, we’re partners in the practice. We literally own it.”

“Huh.” Tamra dropped into the chair across from Mindy’s desk. She picked up the giant bag of potato chips and fished a few out, deliberating as she chewed. “In that case, I have decided on the favour I want.”

“I’m sorry, we cannot give you a pay rise. We need that money for legal expenses when patients get attacked by all the animals that live here.”

“Fine. But I want a new computer in phlebotomy. My vlog is way behind because you keep asking me to work late and the computer in there is about a million years old.”

Mindy sighed. “Fine.”

“And I want those new cute scrubs with the flowers on them from that catalogue you’ve been hiding from me.”

“Done.”

“And when you and Dr. C. get married, I get exclusive media rights.”

“Tamra! What if E! offers me a million dollars!”

“I guess you should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you?”

“Fine,” Mindy huffed. “But I’ll sell the honeymoon to anyone I like.”

“Whatever. Like I care about your white-ass trip to some tacky resort in Mexico.”

 

Tamra stood up to leave. “Pleasure doing business with you, Dr. L.”

“Hey, Tamra? Just so you know, you  _will_  be a bridesmaid.”

“Fine, but I’m choosing the dress. I don’t trust whatever mess your fried bride brain is going to come up with.”

“I love you too.”


End file.
